


sweeter still

by Khismer



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Other, Spoilers for everything, no pronouns for reader but they are assumed to be dfab and there is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khismer/pseuds/Khismer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know… you did listen to me,” he says at last. He tilts his head, regarding you carefully with his clear, clear eyes. “And I did promise. So…” That’s a definite smile now, small and mischievous, but unmistakable. “Do you want that treat now?”<br/>A direct continuation of Something Sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweeter still

_“You know… you_ did _listen to me,” he says at last. He tilts his head, regarding you carefully with his clear, clear eyes. “And I_ did _promise. So…” That’s a definite smile now, small and mischievous, but unmistakable. “Do you want that treat now?”_

The question hangs in the air, leaves you wide-eyed. You can't seem to look away from him.

He's got one hand curled around his elbow and he's watching you headlong, mint eyes unwavering as you've ever seen them. It’s hard to tell how serious he is, if he expects any sort of answer at all.

Just thinking that he may have even _slightly_ meant it makes your pulse quicken, embarrassingly so for how unsure you are, but...

You push aside as much of your hesitance as you can and nod. His eyes widen a fraction, and for a second Saeran stills.

He wasn't that far from you to begin with, but when he surges forward, presses into you, it feels like a collision.

He clutches at your wrist like he's anchoring you, and his lips crash into yours.

It's aggressive from the get-go, leaving you gasping, head spinning. It's a pleasant sort of breathlessness, and you cinch your arms around him, wanting him closer.

It only lasts another moment, and then he breaks away and presses a kiss to the corner of your jaw. There's a faint pressure and the slightest hint of pain and then he moves on, lower this time **.**

He makes a slow trail down, and after a moment, you glance down to see a litany of reddening marks that you'd bet go all the way up, too.

When he reaches your collarbone, his hands slide up the back of your shirt, rucking it up as he goes. He fumbles with the clasp of your bra and -- keeps fumbling.

He pulls away and you laugh when his mouth twists in frustration, but you pull him in closer to you with your legs as you reach back to undo the clasp.

He doesn't bother to try pulling it off, just pushes it up.

His touch trails along the underside of your breasts but doesn't rise. You whine in protest, and he doesn't increase his pace but he does let you pull him into a demanding kiss.

When you tighten your grip on him he palms you, brushing his thumbs teasingly over your nipples only occasionally so you sigh into his mouth.

You tug at his sweater, needing more contact. You manage to pull it halfway off him before he breaks away just long enough to pull it the rest of the way and toss it somewhere behind him, and then he returns to lavishing marks on you.

He's got a shirt on beneath and you want that gone too, leaving no more barrier, but you don't want him to pull away again even for a moment, and at least it's thin enough to not be much of an obstacle. He feels slight in your grasp, not fragile, but close to it, close enough to be dissonant with the way he kisses you, with the aggressive hold he has on you.

His fingers dance along the hem of your pants, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He stops there, though.

When he draws back, you whine, trying to angle up and meet his lips again, but he angles away in turn, so at last, with effort, you open your eyes.

Even after all of this, staring into Saeran’s eyes makes you tremble, makes you flush with heat. He brings one hand up to cup your neck, thumb rubbing slow, gentle circles there, while the other remains at your waist. His lips part, and he blinks, but remains silent, like he a hesitating over a question. What could he--?

And your breath catches. _Oh._  

If it's possible to flush any darker, you doubt it. Still --

“ _Please_ ,” you sigh, and his smile grows. His fingers hook firmly into the hem of your pants and he gives a sharp tug down.

His hands settle on your thighs, pushing your legs a little further apart, and Saeran sinks to his knees.

He's clumsy at first, hesitance born from, you presume, inexperience, keeping his movements slow, his tongue broad even as he laps over your clit.

Whether by chance or purposefully, he gives a firmer try, swirling over your clit, and you inhale sharply. He pauses, briefly, glances up at you, and does it again.

Your breath comes out shakily and you tangle your fingers in his hair, encouraging him wordlessly.

He seems to get the hang of it after that. He pulls your legs to rest over his shoulders and switches from broad to narrow strokes, following your folds and dipping into you.

He trails up and gently sucks your clit. One hand wanders under your thigh, pulling you up a little to better meet his mouth, and the angle and the touch sends you over the edge.

“Saera--aahn.” Your voice dissolves into a breathy moan.

Your phone begins to buzz beside you and you swipe away whatever notification it shows lazily, too occupied with _this_ to care.

You're breathing heavily, coming down from the high, and your hand moves absently, petting his hair.

And then his teeth graze your clit.

“Mhn--”

It's light pressure but you're still so, so, sensitive, and you flinch, jerking forward a little, your head tossing back reflexively. You try to close your legs but he places a palm on your knee and pushes gently.

It's almost too much for you to handle. It edges on painful but wavers there on that balance, and when he does it again you tremble.

He pulls back after a while and dips his fingers into you. He’s callused, lightly, but it makes for a _delicious_ friction as he presses into you.

You look down.

He's got his head resting on your thigh, looking up at you, and as you watch, shivering, he pulls his fingers out and traces your opening with an unbearably light touch.

His gaze is electric, half-lidded and dark with lust, the faint smile on his face cocky beyond belief like he _knows_ you're getting off to it even when he's being a little shit like this, and then he dips his fingers back in and curls and that does it for you. It’s almost shameful how hard that orgasm hits you, how instantaneous it is, and his lips curl further In satisfaction.

You pant and tug weakly at him, reaching down to pull at his shirt and gripping tighter when he rises.

He moves to wipe his mouth with the heel of his hand but you pull him in before he can. The kiss is slick this time, and you can taste yourself on him.

You reach up and thread your fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes when your nails graze his scalp, leaning in so his forehead rests against yours.

His other arm drifts around your waist, a loose embrace. He sighs softly and it sounds content.

You brace yourself, one-handed, on the edge of the counter to shift to a better position, and you raise your legs to wrap them around his waist. His eyes open again. It’s as hard to look away from him as ever and now, you suppose, you don't need to pretend otherwise. You draw yourself up and into him and feel a thrum of satisfaction when his eyes narrow at the closeness.

He reaches down to thumb lazily at your clit, and your hips jerk weakly when he slips in two fingers and begins to pump.

Your kisses grow sloppier, less focused, as you edge on another orgasm. You try to hold tight to him, stay focused even as you clench around him.

Compared to before, it's nowhere near as intense, but it spreads through you in waves, riding on the aftershocks of the ones before.

You can feel him smiling when he presses his lips to yours again.  

There's a noise but it seems distant, unimportant. It takes a minute to come down from the pleasant fog enough to discern what it is.

The door is asking for a password.

Saeyoung is home.

The realization seems to hit Saeran at the same time, and he stumbles a bit trying to give you space to get down.

You scramble off the counter to hastily pull on your pants -- there's not enough time to slip your underwear back on so you snatch it from the floor and shove it in your pocket -- and take stock of yourself.

You're a mess, bra hanging loose, shirt hopelessly rumpled, scattered marks marring your skin.

You scrub a hand over your mouth, trying to fix what little you _can_ fix now, and then something is thrust towards you.

Saeran’s sweater.

You blink at it, then at him, and then hastily pull it over your head when you hear the sound of the door unlocking.

It doesn't cover all the marks, of course, but if you angle yourself just right, maybe --  

“I’m home~”

You jolt as Saeyoung bounds through the door, a bag full of… _something_ hanging from his arm.

There's a faint hint of worry on his face that dissipates when he sees Saeran beside you, but he tilts his head when he looks at you again. “Is that--”

“It’s comfy,” you interject, praying that your face doesn't redden.

“Is it inside out?”

You glance down. Is it? Shit. “Dunno,” you say. You shoot a glance at Saeran as if he could help you and -- oh, you are going to kill him. He's actually grinning as he stands behind Saeyoung, or… the equivalent of what a grin would be, on him. Unbelievable.

...it looks good on him, though. Certainly the widest you've seen him smile thus far. Smug bastard.

You realize you've thrown yourself off with this observation, and you shake your head lightly. “Well, we ruined the outside of it with flour. Only fair that the inside match, right?”

Saeyoung’s eyes narrow, and you try not to shrink under his gaze. No admitting to anything unless he _knows._

At last he says, “you left some for me, right?”

“Huh? Oh, the cookies! Yeah, they're--” Oh no. You freeze at the sudden realization. Oh _no_.

You trip over yourself to grab oven mitts and fling the oven door open to see how bad the damage is.

They're not _exactly_ burned to a crisp, but they're not far from it, either. The cookies have turned an unappetizing black, and when you produce one with your nail, it stays utterly solid, not giving even a little under pressure.

Saeran comes to stand beside you. After a moment, he looks up at Saeyoung. “These ones are yours,” he says flatly.

You hardly even register Saeyoung’s cry of protest, too occupied with wondering how--?

Oh. Oh no. Earlier, you turned off the alarm for the oven, didn't you? When you -- well.

Morosely, you peer into the bowl of dough on the counter. “There’s probably enough left to fill up a half sheet,” you sigh.

When you look up, Saeyoung is pouting. He swipes a pinch of dough and point at you, balancing it.

“Don't burn these ones!”

“We won't!” you call after him. It's not as if you're going to have an immediate repeat of… all that.

You shake your head to clear away the thought when you feel yourself start to flush.

As far as you can tell, Saeran’s been watching you through most of this, and you only let yourself look back at him when you hear the creak of Saeyoung’s bedroom door. You almost wish you hadn't.

Saeran’s eyes gleam with unhidden satisfaction, and his lips curl as you watch. It's the same smile as --

Well. You _probably_ won't have a repeat, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> if this is about the title: I know and I don't have the excuse of it being 2am this time


End file.
